The Heir of Middle Manor

Part 3: Orphaned for the 4th Time

"Even the spaces between them," Mr. Oliver instructed his assistant as he glanced at his watch. "We don't have much time."

The assistant tried to set the chairs correctly, but the uneven, lumpy grass made it impossible. Some of the chairs tilted a little left and others a little to the right, like they were on a choppy sea.

"Well, this will just have to do," Mr. Oliver frowned. He was an older man with a blank expression, and thinning gray hair combed neatly over his baulding head.

"No. It won't due!" Ryan heard himself say sharply as he stepped away from his aunt's casket. Everything about this last week was bubbling up inside him. He had barely spoken since his Aunt died other than to agree to whatever anyone had told him needed to happen. It was not because he didn't have an opinion, but more because he could not find his bearings in this new experience of losing his aunt. He felt like he was underwater or in some suspended deep sleep.

Mr. Oliver and his assistant stopped and stared at Ryan.

"You'd like a different arrangement, Ryan?" Mr. Oliver asked and surveyed the space around the grave. "You're right. Let's move the chairs over to the side. It looks a bit flatter there."

"She doesn't belong here," Ryan said sharply. "This is all wrong."

"I know. She was a lovely woman," Mr. Oliver said solemnly. He gestured his assistant to relocate the chairs off to the left. "She will be greatly missed by everyone who loved her."

Ryan shook his head abruptly. "That's not what I mean."

Mr. Oliver joined his assistant in trying to get the chairs set up correctly. "Let's see if we can make these more to your liking."

Ryan felt a flicker of anger igniting.

"It has nothing to do with the stupid chairs!" Ryan snapped.

He yanked off his tie and shoved it in the pocket of his coat, feeling the marble Mary had given him there. He didn't remember putting it in his coat pocket, but he barely remembered what he'd been doing at all this week.

Aunt Hattie had always told Ryan he was too blunt. "People like the truth offered up with a bit of sugar", she'd said. "Count to five or even ten in your head, and then decide if what you need to say needs saying."

Ryan counted to six in his head.

He glanced at Aunt Hattie's grave and took a deep breath before choosing his next words. He wanted to say, "You stupid idiots can't be as clueless as you seem, can you? Look at this awful place! When was the last time anyone was buried here? Like 100 years ago? You think it's okay to bury her in this dump? It's not!"

Instead, he said, "I don't want to leave her here. Why can't she be over at the cemetery on Elm Grove? At least they mow the lawns and there's no trash."

"She bought this site years ago, Ryan." Mr. Oliver said stepping toward him and speaking in a gentle tone that Ryan found annoying. "She told me she liked that oak tree just behind her there." He pointed at the large oak filled with birds chirping. "And she said she knew some old ghosts here that she wanted to stay near."

Ryan sighed, imagining Aunt Hattie saying those very words, and ignoring the rusted, gutted car, the trash, broken headstones, and the overall depressing state this place was in. She'd see only what she found beautiful about this place.

When the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a flower delivery truck, Ryan felt relieved. He walked back to stand next to Aunt Hattie's casket and waited for the mourners to arrive.

Mr. Oliver and his assistant wrangled a massive flower arrangement of roses, lilies, and orchids in purples and lavender that had just been delivered complete with a large ornate stand. This arrangement dwarfed all the other flower arrangements placed around Aunt Hattie's casket. A golden banner draped across the front read, "From your loving brother".